


It's Alright

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brainwashing, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Molestation, Post-All Will be Judged, Underage Kissing, Underage Rape/Non-con, talon bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 07:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10986552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: Alfred finds Bruce and fights to bring him back to himself and break the Shaman's hold on him before he kills him.





	It's Alright

**Author's Note:**

> This is an underage fic depicting a standing relationship with Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth. If this is something that doesn't interest you, hit the back arrow now. Thank you.

Alfred had just about had enough of getting bloody concussed every fucking time he left the house. Or went into the study. Or got thrown out a fucking window. The clone had knocked him good, as had Barnes, and now this other little Talon fuck had knocked his head on the cold stone floor and made it very difficult to see. 

His vision swam a moment, seeing two of everything; the window, the fireplace, the darkened shadow of the creature he was fighting. His body was fighting to make him pass out, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t afford to do that. The old man staying here knew where Bruce was, and if he had to go through this little shit to get to him then he bloody would. He’d go through an army to get Bruce back home safe, where he belonged. Where he needed his boy to be. 

The Talon cracked his neck, approaching him quickly for round two.

“Just ‘ow many of you bastards are there?!” He barked spitting blood from his mouth. His vision cleared and he acted, ducking quickly to avoid getting another jab to the face. He rolled up onto his knees, catching the assailant in the gut and slamming him against the wall. The man didn’t let out so much as a grunt before attempting to headbutt him, but he’d fuckin’ learned from that the day before, hadn’t he? 

He grabbed the man’s mask instead and shoved his head back  into more rock, staggering back to catch his breath a moment. His fists stayed up, the old codger in the corner watching without much emotion other than smugness. 

The man lurched for him again just as Alfred plucked his knife from the rug where it had skittered to, and he snarled when their bodies slammed together, quick to bury the blade in his side and kick him square in the chest to get him the hell away from him. “Tell me where Bruce is or I’ll fucking gut your pet!” He snarled, turning on the man who didn’t seem perturbed at all. 

“I don’t think you’ll get that chance again, Mr. Pennyworth.” He looked over his shoulder at the Talon. “Again.”

The Court member he’d been fighting held his stomach a moment, mask askew, the wind knocked from his lungs. The old man’s jaw ticked and he stood up straighter, something horrible flashing in his eyes. “I said,  _ again! Now! _ ”

Alfred turned in time to be hit once more. He took the punch to the jaw, both kidneys, his ribs, getting his own jabs in. He finally struck the stab wound he’d left and the man buckled, doubling over, leaving himself vulnerable. Alfred glanced at his knife, then at the creature, and dropped it. He’d do this with his bare fucking hand.

Before he could fully gain his bearings again, Alfred slammed his fist into his face, striking him square in the nose, or beak, rather. His knuckles bloomed with blood and the pain fueled his rage. He struck him over and over until he was sure he’d broken something, including the mask. 

This time he did make a sound, crying out and grunting in pain in a voice Alfred knew. He hissed, holding his face while the mask crumbled and fell away. Blood soaked his fingers from the gash left on his broken nose, curls coming loose. Alfred went pale, his stomach sinking right to the cold floor he’d just left, heart rising to his throat. 

“B-Bruce?” He whispered, a tremor working through him as he realized what he’d done. The boy, his boy, looked at him, bruised and cut up from their fight, chest hitching from the knife he’d buried in him. It wasn’t lethal, he didn’t stab him to kill him, it  _ wasn’t _ lethal… “No. No, no, no, what’s he done to you?” 

Slowly, Bruce turned and began to advance on him, sweat pouring down his face, his own body shaking with exhaustion. The last Talon Alfred had fought didn’t stop until he’d killed him. Bruce wouldn’t either. 

“Bruce, Bruce, listen to me,” he said softly, hands up in surrender now. “Bruce, it’s me. It’s Alfred, hey--” He blocked a punch he threw at him and took the other two, staggering back but still upright, still defensive. He would not attack again. “Oi! Listen to me, I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me, just listen!” 

“Kill him, Bruce,” the old man ordered. Bruce...hesitated. 

“Hey! Hey, look at me. Lookit me, don’t look at him, Bruce. Bruce, hey,” he snapped his fingers to get his attention. “I dunno what he’s done to ya, I dunno what kind of sick shit he’s done to make you into this, but this is not you. This ain’t you, Bruce, it’s not. It--” Another hard blow to his jaw. The emptiness in Bruce’s eyes gave him chills, but there were flickers in them, like the flames licking toward the sky in the fireplace - there was something in there. His boy was still in there, his sweet, sweet boy was  _ there. _

He nearly lost his footing with yet another hit that rocked him. “You got rules, Bruce, remember? You remember? Eh? You will not kill. You will  _ not _ kill. You made that promise to yourself. This man wants you to break it. Since when do you listen, huh? You don’ listen to no one, and this arse is gonna tell ya who you are?” 

Bruce was fighting something deep inside of him, something that twisted his face into confusion, into something like pain. He grunted and lunged to hit him again but missed. The old man hissed angrily. 

“Follow your destiny, Bruce!” He bellowed. “Do as I command and kill him! He wants to make you weak!” 

“No, no, I--” 

Bruce kicked him square in the chest, as he’d just done to him moments ago, swiping his legs from underneath him and sending him crashing to the floor again. 

His head swam once more, stars bursting in front of his eyes while shadows clouded around them. He grunted, shaking his head, returning with the sharpest clarity when a hand was wrapped around his throat, a weight on top of him.

Bruce was straddling his chest, one hand ready to cinch around his windpipe and crush it, the other raised to beat him to death. He didn’t seem sure as to which method he preferred, and perhaps he was just holding him still. 

Bruce felt something tugging at him, something he didn’t like, something that made his heart ache looking at...at Alfred. He shut his eyes, tight, trying to will it away while the Shaman yelled at him. 

“Do it! What are you waiting for?! Just do it! You’ve let go of the pain of losing your parents, you’ve let go of everything else! You are a tool, a weapon for my use! You are strong! Killing him will make you stronger!” 

“Bruce…” 

He looked down at Alfred, caught somewhere in the spiderweb of his mind he could no longer navigate. “I won’t be weak! You make me weak!” He hissed, squeezing his throat. 

Alfred gasped, forcing out words despite it. “N-no, Bruce. You’re not weak. You’re--you’re the strongest person I-I’ve ever--” He gagged, grabbing Bruce’s wrist on instinct. “It, it doesn’t make you weak. Losing th-them...that’s, that’s what makes you s-strong. It keeps you fighting. You, you aren’t a puppet, Bruce…” 

“Shut up!” He screamed, grabbing the knife from the ground and shoving it against his throat instead. He saw flickers of a room, a closed safe he could open-- “No! No, no, I have to! I have to do this, I won’t take back the pain!”

He felt nothing and yet now he was overwhelmed. Alfred, so gentle and kind, callused hands holding him so carefully, whispering sweet things to him, his lips soft on his skin. He set him ablaze and burned with him and they were happy--

A dark room, masked faces, the chill of the air on his naked body but he would not shiver. He would not move unless ordered. He followed like a puppet on a string, allowing the too-soft hands and too-sharp nails to invade his body, opening his mouth obediently, taking what was given, no humiliation to be found just obedience like a good dog--

“Stop it!” He snarled to himself, still holding Alfred down, refusing to look into his eyes.

“That’s it, Bruce, kill him. This is what I made you for, this is what you’re supposed to be...what I made you…” 

The blade pricked his skin while tears slid down Bruce’s face, his heart breaking. This wasn’t his fault, wasn’t his choice, not really. Terrified as he might be to leave Bruce with this man...he couldn’t allow any room for guilt, just in case. Not in a heart so tender and gentle, as just and good as Bruce was… If he ever regained himself after he did this…

He reached up and gently cupped his cheek, swallowing around the knife digging deeper into his flesh. “Hey,” he said softly, gaining his attention again. “It’s alright, love. It’s okay, Bruce. You… It’s not your fault, eh? It’s alright.” He thumbed away his tears, smiling a little. “It’s alright.”

Bruce stared at him, a silent sob rocking him a little. Bruised, bloody, so close to death, looking right into Bruce’s eyes with so much...love. He winced, the heel of his hand digging into his temple as he was thrown back into his mind. 

_ “It’s alright…”  _

The same soft voice and gentle touch wiping away tears from a newly orphaned boy, holding his cheek and hugging him close in the back seat of a car. He shook with adrenaline, with cold and pain and he knew he should be strong. He knew he shouldn’t cry. “Let it out, it’s okay. I’m here, I gotcha. I’m right here.” 

_ “It’s alright…” _

Holding him once their bodies were in the ground, while everyone filed to their cars and gawked at him. Alfred shielded him from their sight, pressed their foreheads together and whispered over and over that everything would be okay soon. And he was there for him. Bruce kissed him and he didn’t flinch away or yell at him. He stayed right there.

_ “It’s alright…”  _

Finding him up in his parents’ room, clinging to the cufflinks and hugging his knees in the back of the large closet, hot, angry and ashamed tears leaking down his face. “I can’t, I can’t,” he’d sobbed. Alfred simply gathered him in his arms and sat right there with him, letting him cry while he cupped his neck. 

“You don’t have to let them go, love. He’ll always be with you, your mum too. It’s okay to need somethin’ to hold onto.” 

Bruce kissed him again, more desperately this time, and pressed their foreheads together before crumpling into more harsh sobs. Alfred pressed his lips to his forehead and rubbed his back.

“They’ll always be with you, Bruce. And so will I.”

Downstairs in another part of his mind, his memories, the safe opened.

Suddenly he was in front of it, the warmth of Alfred’s lips and his hands-- 

The Shaman violated him in front of the Court to show his obedience, to prove his dominance, he fucked him to prove he truly was his lap dog, attack dog, his pet, his pig,  _ his-- _

Bruce winced again, staring into the safe, at the pearls. The cufflinks. His pain and his rage, his...his heart. His everything. 

Alfred. 

Shaking, he picked them up.

He gasped, coming back to himself, only seconds having passed, and his heart welled with anguish. 

“Alfred?”

He smiled, letting out a relieved wheeze. “There’s my boy.”

“Alfred,” he choked, dropping the knife and leaning into his hand. “Alfred, Alfred…”

“NO!”

The boy looked at the blood on his hands, at what he’d done to Alfred, shaking his head and trembling. “I… I-I…” Alfred blinked at him, opening his mouth to speak-- 

Bruce kissed him, hesitant, as if afraid to break something fragile about it. A surprised sound hummed into his lips and he sat up, painstakingly, wrapping his arms around Bruce tight. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t-- I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean it, I-” 

“Shh,” he soothed, holding his face again, smiling at him. “Shh, it’s alright. It’s alright, it’s not your fault. I’m here. I got ya, eh? I gotcha.” 

The boy kissed him again and again, urging Alfred to kiss him back, to hold him closer and wash away the horrible things the man behind them did to him in his cleansing touch. Alfred obliged, gentle, careful, tasting blood from either of them - or maybe both. He only embraced him closer, tighter, letting him collapse into his neck and cry while he gently smoothed his hair. 

“I gave you  _ everything _ !” The old man snarled, drawing a long, sharp blade. “And you give it away for the help! You’re of no use to me, no use to anyone and you will never, never be anything but a pathetic little boy! I should have done this when you were delivered to me…” 

The man was approaching them quickly, and Bruce tensed, facing death once more.

Alfred twisted away, shielding Bruce with his own body as the first slash came down across his back that would’ve slit his throat. 

“Alfred!” 

“No matter,” the old man growled, panting from exertion. “Killing you both will be a pleasure in itself.” Alfred winced, covering Bruce as much as he could, trying to spare him before-- 

The doors burst open, several gunshots ringing out around them. The blade didn’t come down, but a body did.

Alfred looked over his shoulder, first at the dead old man, then at Jim Gordon, whose gun was still drawn. 

“Took ya long enough,” he gasped, his shirt soaking with fresh blood while Bruce trembled in his arms, staring at the body, trying to focus on the present and not his overwrought mind. 

“Hey, hey,” Alfred whispered, gently turning his chin while the police came in and began searching the building for accomplices. “It’s alright,” he assured, smiling gently at him. “It’s alright, love.” 

“I...I’m…” He tried to find the words, something more meaningful than ‘I’m sorry,’ but he was never good with words like that. Alfred gently bumped his forehead with his own. 

“I know,” he assured. “I know. Let’s worry about that tomorrow, eh? Right now, we need to get you home.” 

He stood with him, buckling when the pain in his back finally registered. Bruce caught him, holding him tight. 

“Maybe a hospital first,” he suggested, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But I ain’t happy about it,” Alfred smiled, wincing while they limped toward the door to get to the ambulance outside. “So what’s a bloke gotta do to get kissed like that again? Is it only for life saving situations or like, doing the dishes or sommat?” 

Bruce laughed a little, shoving the door open. “When we get home I’ll show you.” 

“Oh, you little minx…” 

Bruce took one more look at the room behind him, at the dead man on the floor, head giving a nasty throb. Alfred grunted in pain, bloody, broken, overtired, because of him. He endured so much pain...for him. 

“I love you,” he blurted, turning away. Alfred smiled softly, glancing around before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“I love you too, Bruce.”

Some pain was worth letting go of, Bruce realized. Some pain would only hold you back, allow people to use and manipulate you, break your will, your soul until you lost yourself entirely. Some pain fueled you. Kept you fighting, kept you going. Some of it allowed you to see the world through a different lens. Not a bitter one, but a justified one. Perhaps the Shaman was right. Perhaps he could be a symbol to help protect Gotham. 

But on his terms. With Alfred right beside him, as it should always be. 

He stepped outside, letting the door shut behind him. 

The safe shut too, and then it was gone.


End file.
